There’s a reason I don’t share everything about my life with some people.

Competition.

My husband calls me a competitive person. And he may be right. Maybe. I like to think of myself as driven. I’m a bit of a perfectionist. I enjoy success. But I don’t think of myself as competitive.

There is a certain frequent house guest of mine, to whom I may or may not be related, who is very competitive with me. While we were growing up we’d compare music collections, swim times, who had the “fattest” thighs. (She won.)

Even now, as adults, I feel her critical eye whenever she visits. Who has the better relationship with her kids? Who has the nicer things? Who has the fatter thighs? (I win.)

I encouraged her to try yoga. And now when she visits, she wants to practice together. And check out who is more flexible? Who can hold a pose the longest? Who has the fatter thighs? (I still win.)

This past trip, I think I hurt her feelings when I said, “It’s really the only time I schedule just for me. And since I always end my practice with lots of meditation, I’d prefer to do it by myself.”

I feel bad that I hurt her feelings. But I’m glad I stuck to my Zen guns.

“Did my first handstand in yoga today!” – was her latest Facebook status.

(Cue subtle eye-roll.)

Her status got me thinking if other people were annoyed with competitive yoga-mates.